Not the Same
by littorella
Summary: In the morning mirror, something is amiss: Soubi's BELOVED scar is fading.
1. Bounded

A/N: A wicked idea that's been stirring for a while. Sort of a psychological story messing with haziness of present and past. Bit of a short intro. 8 chapters, anyone care to beta?

**Not the Same**

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Yesterday, Soubi was okay.

He painted a crooked line that morphed into a flower, ate a quiet dinner by himself, and picked out the off-white shirt and black pants he'd wear the next day.

Soubi thought about his day as he laid in bed.

He thought about Ritsuka, Seimei, Ritsu. The people who he was bound to. Naive Ritsuka, adamant Seimei, and pristine Ritsu. Their souls he could not, and would not touch. There were rare flowers in the world that grew beauty out of dead land, and he knew they were easily damaged. He would not let Ritsuka follow Seimei's path and become another cruel cold Ritsu.

He has something to live on, hopelessly devoted.

Everything was as it should have been.

Morning rolled around and Soubi stretched out his long limbs awkwardly as he did everyday, wishing for just five more minutes of darkness and sleep. He ran his fingers through ash colored hair, carelessly removing the tangles sleep had tied into his hair. Grabbing glasses, he slowly walked over to the bathroom. A clink announced the unceremonious placement of his glasses on the porcelain sink beside the faucet.

Still tired and half asleep, Soubi turned on the water. Wordless flowing laughter poured out of the faucet. He splashed the cold water onto his face and was mercilessly jerked out of his fuzzy mental state. Strands of hair caked together from water. Officially awake and functioning, he dried his face with a towel and put his glasses on.

He opened the mirror and took out gauze to wrap around the mark his owner has gifted him. Taking the fabric end in his left hand, he held it to his permanent necklace and fidgeted to set the gauze in the right position to be wrapped around.

He could feel fingers gliding across the scars, marking ownership. Cold fingertips, weightless gauze, a non-comprehensible whisper in his ear that said he belonged completely.

Soubi turned around to meet the breath on neck. There was no one there, only an empty bedroom still cloaked in the fuzzy darkness that was dawn.

"Never let anyone see it, Soubi."

The strong voice echoed in the hollow silence of the room. There was no sound other than the beating of a pair of human hearts. Seimei curled a lock of hair around his fingers and twisted it in thought. A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. He reached upward to touch his handiwork. No one could touch this, this was solely his. It stole his breath away.

"No one else needs to know. It's not something for you to parade around; someone might become too interested. Don't ever forget that you are mine."

"I am yours alone."

It had been a while since Seimei spoke so directly. He couldn't resist leading Soubi a bit more. It was such a thrill to see the will of a beautiful creature bend to his desire, to see such a fiery soul extinguished under his command. In the beginning, there were flashes of that flame. But he had crushed any indication of independence and made sure that Soubi became completely submissive. If he, Seimei, said to live. Soubi would live. If he said to die. Soubi would surely die.

"What would you do if I were gone?"

Soubi looked at him unsure. He lifted his hand to cover the boy's, still gripping his throat. Cold hands on cold. Heavy lidded eyes glanced down and he bowed his head. Ashen hair fell on his master's arm, rose-lit by the soft light of falling dusk. "I would follow you there," he said without hesitation. The air was dense.

The smirk appeared on Seimei's face again. Possession was such a sweet poison. He stated coldly, "And what if I told you that where I'm going, you can't follow."

Soubi's eyes flew to Seimei's face, shocked. The panic on his face made the boy smile inside. Seimei took the gauze from Soubi's hands and carefully wrapped layer after layer around the etched work. That was the one and only time two pairs of hands participated.

It was such a common ritual for Soubi that he didn't even look in the mirror for guidance. He had been wrapping his precious mark for years, always the same gauze, always twisting it with expert skill that spoke of endless practice. But for some reason, today he looked up. The figure in the mirror stared back with a fierce intensity and pointed up toward his neck. His eyes widened and the gauze roll fell the floor in a muffled thunk. Soubi's hands couldn't stop shaking. He stood still, breathe caught in, unable to comprehend the situation.

His hands gripped the sink rim for support. He was sure the one in the mirror wasn't him. Tentatively, Soubi glanced up at the mirror, but this time, it was only his reflection. Clear eyes shifted to where the figure had pointed. There was something wrong. Something was not the same.

With trembling fingertips, he gently reached up and examined his throat.

The 'B' was a shade of pale rose, barely noticeable compared to the deep scars of the rest of the word.

He covered it in an attempt to hide the disturbing letter. Perhaps he was hallucinating. Soubi took his hand away and hoped that it would be dark, just as it should be. But the jagged letter was still that same pale skin tone. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt as if he were suffocating.

BELOVED was fading.


	2. Enclosures

A/N: Much love to my Beta reader Amelia, and to you, readers.

* * *

**Not the Same**

Part II - Enclosure

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The missing letter on Soubi's neck stubbornly refused to come back. It healed until he could no longer tell where it used to be. He ran his fingertips across it every morning, hoping to at least feel the raised ridges of skin knit back together unevenly. Soubi spent countless minutes agonizing over it. And each morning, he continued to feel nothing.

Trudging through everyday was suddenly so difficult. It was as if his heart constantly skipped beats and caused him to not know when and where he should be at all times. No matter how early he woke, he always seemed to be just a few moments behind the rest of the world. And honestly, he didn't quite care enough to try and remedy it.

Soubi wrapped the gauze around the letters and headed for class. He would paint something extraordinary today.

Art was never something he imagined himself doing. Art had a past and future, neither of which he could delude himself into thinking he had. He simply was. Made for one purpose, not to live for himself. So his art was an indulgence that he allowed himself. But it was only that, an indulgence. He sensed his own mediocrity all those paintings of his, but could never fully realize it.

His paintings were beautiful, even Seimei agreed, but he had also said that they held no substance.

"I would never paint anything like this. It is excessive, but means nothing. It is pretty, but it's been done. Tawaraya Sōtatsu did this kind of stuff. Art lives for itself. This is a sham that lives to please others."

And he was absolutely right.

Seimei was always right. His words applied to every aspect of his existence. To fight was Seimei's sole aim in life, it was his art. It was his love, and he never fought in any method but his own. And he knew he was right with the same certainty that he knew he had the ability with which to fight. There was no opinion that he respected except his own.

His owner was hated, yet loved by everyone. Soubi never understood why. Maybe it was because Seimei never needed anyone, never depended on anyone, and such a soul was dangerous in a world of weak spirits that depended on each other.

"Why is wrong to paint what others find beautiful?"

"Why? Don't be stupid. Because it means you do not love what you create."

"But I..."

"I guess that just can't be helped though, because you aren't really alive. You only live in the reflection of others. There is no Soubi, only what you think other people want to see."

The dark haired boy spoke as if he were infinitely wiser, words like a jagged stroke of black ink across dry white paper.

Soubi added another sharp line across the middle of his paper, parallel to the previous one. He put down the brush and picked up the wooden bowl of water meant for washing. He squeezed his tube of red ink into the bowl and mixed until the water was opaque and brightly red. Holding it high, he tipped the bowl until the red poured onto the center of his page, molten and acidic, eating up the white space in stains.

He did the same with his orange and grimly watched as it bled together with the red and black.

"Oy!" Kio hopped over, delightfully cheerful, with a lollipop already in his mouth. He customarily asked, "What are you painting today? Butterfl..." The question stopped cold as he saw the sloppy blend of ink on a paper that refused to take so much water.

Quickly reacting, Kio pushed Soubi aside and stared at the painting in its frontal glory. "Something new today, huh? Well, it's um..." he searched for a kind description, but looking at it gave him the creeps, like ants crawling all over his heart. The despair made him weak and he had to grip the table for support. Instinctively, Kio's hand flew up toward his neck. He could have swore that he felt like he was choking.

"It's very powerful. I think it's your best work yet," he managed to croak out.

Soubi didn't meet his gaze.

"Save the praises, Kio. It's an ugly mess."

"No, there's something oddly beautiful about it. What are you going call it?"

A wisp of a smile as he said, "I think it looks like being lost. Kind of terrifying, kind of frenetic, kind of respect-demanding."

Kio nodded and took out his lollipop in thought. The scent of lemon candy filled the air. He looked down at the painting, a carefully designed disorder, and sensed that is was telling of something beyond their little world of art. It was sinister, and he knew exactly what it was about.

"Sou-chan..."

He received a strange look.

"What is it?"

Kio sighed and shoved the candy back in his mouth to prevent himself from saying what was on his mind.

"What is it?" Soubi insisted again.

Lemon candy rolled around in Kio's mouth, keeping it shut. Air sparked between them, blue eyes against blue, cold on warm. Soubi intently looked at his friend for the comment he knew Kio would undoubtedly betray. He reached over and placed his fingers over Kio's right hand on the table.

Kio tensed and closed his eyes. Eyebrows wrinkled upward, showing his reluctance. Kio heaved a sigh. He turned to Soubi and spoke earnestly, "He didn't treat you well."

"He wasn't supposed to."

Soubi retracted his hand and reached for his brush, a move to ignore the blank look his friend was giving to him.

"That doesn't make it alright," Kio protested.

"It made it easy."

"Easy things aren't always the best."

Soubi blew a strand of hair out of his face and dipped his brush in his well of black ink. He poised his hand over the painting, about to draw another harsh streak. The brush was just a few inches above the paper, perfectly vertical in a careful artist's hand. It was so saturated with ink that Soubi could see the liquid gathering a the tip into a round drop that could fall any moment.

"When I was around him, I felt weightless," he said casually, not letting any emotion seep into his voice.

More ink was steadily gathering at the tip of the brush. If he didn't move soon, it would splash and ruin his work.

Sadness, Kio felt sadness as he looked at the man before him, bent over a warped painting of suppressed rage. He felt sadness at the truth that he was helplessly watching a human being descend into pure despair.

"Do you love him?"

The brush fell with a loud hollow clank, having been thrown forcefully. He couldn't do it, the painting refused any more additions. The entire room turned to stare at the little outburst in the corner. Soubi shot them all glares that said 'move it on.' He bent down to pick up the brush. It left a large unpleasant splatter on the floor. A souvenir for future students to wonder about.

Soubi set the brush down, eyes clouded with apology and something akin to pain. He lowered his head, unable to meet his friend's gaze. He could not lie, not even to spare Kio's feelings. On any other day, perhaps he could have. But today his heart simply would not let him.

"Yes."

Kio smiled wistfully, nods accompanying his chuckles as if he'd been guessing along with a game show and just got the answer right. His laugh was sharp. The art student glanced up at the old clock on the wall. Only eleven thirty, it was going to be a long awkward half hour before their class ended.

Soubi, too, was counting the time. He had a lecture at two, and then his day was done. He was desperately trying to keep on time.

Four o'clock rang heavily and sullen.

People, everywhere chattering, children laughing; it all came at once. This was where it began, a beginning that was the end of all his other beginnings. The joyous ring of elementary school voices was still twenty steps ahead him, a contrast to the dark overcast day. He was still running late. Normally, he would have been leaning against the school gates waiting already.

Fifteen steps, he walked down the sidewalk as if wandering aimlessly with no destination in mind. No place in mind, only a person. He would be approaching the flood of children soon; he could already see the crowded inside of the courtyard, eyes searching for that one person.

Five steps, a girl bumped into him while looking down the street for her mother. Stammering and apologizing, she bowed and ran past him. Soubi smiled, glanced after her, and stepped forward.

Four.

Three.

Two.

He spotted Ritsuka. Laughing with that bright haired girl and quiet boy with glasses. It had been a very time since he'd seen the boy laugh, unweighted by trouble. Ritsuka seemed to be lingering for a bit to talk to them.

One.

Soubi shoved his hands in his pockets,and fished for a cigarette. Leaning against the stone of the gate corner, he lit it and took a long drag. It would seem that for once in the day, he was not dreadfully late for something. Seimei never tolerated a minute of tardiness. He could only be described as impeccable. There were no other words for him.

Impeccable and cruel.

He remembered ever detail, down the leaden color of his fingertips in the cold. That winter had been much more unbearable than this one. Walking down the sidewalk forcibly brought that day to mind.

The silent street was covered in a thick layer of snow and not the kind that was pure white and inviting. Freezing and refreezing had made it brittle and matted. It was the stuff that made people's annoyances come to life, tired and unwanted. The snow crunched below his boots as he trudged through them.

"You're late."

The dark-haired boy was leaning against the school gates. Seimei regarded him with disdain. He pulled his scarf tighter around him and began walking away from his high school. Biting wind howled around them. The wind blew long ash colored hair into Soubi's face so he could not see clearly. It didn't matter, he didn't need to see clearly to know that the black figure walking away from him was less than pleased with him.

"Seimei..." He ran to catch up. Soubi reached for Seimei's arm and tugged gently. The younger boy spun around and jerked his arm away harshly. His bright amethyst eyes narrowed and his face twisted into a glare of irritation.

"Don't touch me!"

Seimei cocked his head to one side and took a good look at Soubi. The older boy shivered at the glance. It was as if Seimei looked at him, but could not see him at all. He then smiled, a cruel and bitter expression. "Who do you think you are? To touch me? You're just a gift given to me by Ritsu." He spat out the name hatefully, "Something from _him_. That makes you next to worthless. I am the only thing that gives you any value. Everything you are, is because you are mine."

It was always like this.

"Don't come to my school like this." Seimei turned around and walked away. He couldn't seem to put his finger on why he was so disturbed at the moment. No, that was a lie. He knew, he just didn't want to admit it. No one could steal his Soubi away. He would make sure of it. Wind whipped his hair in all directions.

Face in the winter shadows, Soubi shoved his hands into his coat pockets and followed after him. Chilling cold seeped through the meeting hems of his scarf. He pulled his scarf over his nose to hide against the cold, but it only clouded up his glasses until he couldn't see any longer. Soubi took them off to rub the fog away.

A wave of cold stinging pain met the corner of his eyes as he did this. It made him close his eyes instinctively and reach up to touch his eyes. His fingertips came away cold and wet. The wind must have irritated his eyes. Yes, that was it.

Soubi breathed in warm smoke from his barely burnt cigarette and threw it to the ground. Involuntarily, he reached up to rub his eye. Realizing what he was doing, Soubi berated himself. His eyes were not feeling abnormal, he was not eighteen, and the boy in front of the school was not Seimei. Ritsuka was just finishing his conversation with his two friends and heading for the gates.

Today, he would obey. Wordlessly, turning around, Soubi headed for home. He would not be seen today, just as his master had once told him. Don't go to the school. Ritsuka needed his friends, not him.

Catching a glimpse of blond hair and the scent of cigarettes, Ritsuka ran to the corner of the gate. He found nothing but the chilly wind. Small hands gripped the strap of his book bag as he looked all around for the person he was sure had been here. Ritsuka slung the back back so it wouldn't fall as he bent over and reached down for the bent cigarette on the ground. It was still warm.

He ventured another look all around. There was not a soul in sight, only the sputter and slush of a few cars on icy road.

Soubi kept his distance from the street to avoid being splashed with muddy snow water. The walk home was painfully long, the cold numbing his ears. It had begun to snow again just as he arrived home. White crystals caught in his hair as he made his way up the creaking wooden steps. Turning the last corner, he saw blond hair and a wide smile greeting him.

Kio was sitting on the top step, gloved hands picking at the snow falling on his hair. Grinning impishly as he cleaned off his glasses, Kio said, "Quite the detour you took. I thought your lecture ended an hour ago."

"I..."

"Forget it, Sou-chan. I'm just teasing you. Well, don't just stand there, let me in. It's freezing out here." Kio placed emphasis on the last comment.

Soubi nodded, unable to find any words. Quickly running up the steps, two at a time, he felt for the key in his pocket. Soft metal jingling accompanied the sound of hurried motions as he jammed his key into the lock.

The two took coats and shoes off and left them by the door. They both did so with a familiarity that said it was habit despite one being host and the other being guest. Kio fell backwards onto Soubi's bed feigning the extreme fatigue of a long day's hard work. He sighed dramatically and muttered, "Geez, the place is as minimal as always. When are you going to make it a bit more livable? You know what I think you need? A basket of candy."

Soubi poured hot water into two mugs and dropped a bag of tea into each. Jasmine puffs of steam spun into the air as he walked over and handed his friend one. He sat down next to Kio on the bed. A slight twinge at his throat caused his hand to reach up to touch his bandages.

"I don't need anything. A home is just a box under a roof. It's nothing more than a place to sleep."

Kio took a sip of the tea and immediately regretted not waiting. The hot water seared the tip of his tongue. But such was how it is always with tea. He drank a little, grimaced at the pain, and yet kept on doing it despite knowing that it was too hot. The sweet aroma of delicately collected flowers at dawn after a full moon was simply too irresistible.

"Mmm, that is where you are wrong. Foreigners distinguish between a house and a home, and there's really some truth to what they say. There's just something different about the two," Kio lectured, raising his mug in a gesture similar to one of their professors.

The cheerful explanation was met with a bored look. Soubi set his mug on the ground next to his foot and got up. Kio vaguely wondered if he said something wrong.

"I'll be right back."

Soubi was feeling an odd sort of itch beneath his bandage and went to the bathroom to adjust it. He watched the mirror as he unraveled the white fabric. As the ribbon fell away, yielding to dark scars, his eyes widened and his heart began to be beat erratically.

There were now two letters missing.

Roughly wrapping the bandage back, he didn't even bother to trace over the rose-colored 'E' that was fading fast. Tucking the end in, he returned to his seat on the bed. A drink of the scalding hot tea brought him back to stirring reality.

He knew not to ask, but Kio's curiosity got the better of him.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, everything is fine."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically and returned, "Like hell it is. Your bandages are falling loose."

Filled with good intention, Kio reached over to grasp the loose end of the fabric around Soubi's neck. He had only meant to put it back, but Soubi grabbed his wrist roughly and yanked it away, eyes hard and chilling. It was done with such force that Kio couldn't help but winced in pain.

"Don't."

Soubi's voice was low and dangerous.


	3. Lost

**Not the Same**

Part III - Lost

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It had been many days since Soubi had looked beneath his bandages. No longer did he feel the rough skin when he wrapped gauze delicately after his morning shower. He could not bare the confession beloved's fading letters stood for. It whispered that his owner had thrown him away, that Seimei did not love him.

Kio, ever cheerful and devoted Kio, sensed the turmoil in his life and tried desperately to help despite being pushed away repeatedly. But Soubi's resistance was beginning to weather even his resilient soul. Soubi had stopped attending class, and they had not spoken for the better part of a week. On the fourth day, Kio considered paying his friend a visit but talked himself out of it. He knew that no quantity of asking would amount to anything. Plus, it was much too cold to go outdoors.

These four days had been of complete solitude. The apartment had turned into a mess of a studio with canvases strewn about and paint everywhere. He took a departure from the usual and used his oil set, which had gathered considerable dust. The works consumed him completely, he forgot about Beloved, about Loveless. Soubi was on his fifth painting, one for every year. This last one was particularly difficult for him.

He had run out of canvases and cigarettes as he finished his fourth, but weather hadn't permitted a trip to the store. Yet his desire to continue could not be ignored. It ate at him when he slept, until he took it upon himself to construct his own. Using the legs of his breakfast table, he nailed together the square frame. The canvas itself was a bedsheet stretched in his bathtub. Admittedly, this makeshift canvas was less than desirable, but it served his purposes.

Barely sleeping, he had begun painting the very next morning. Dawn crept through the window corners and he began. Most of the morning had past before he stepped away and looked at his work. Soubi looked at it with disgust, it was hideous and frenetic.

The cold light of morning was harsh. Each smear and each line were like pins prodding at his insides, so uncomfortable he had to look away.

Upon seeing this, Soubi could not bring himself to add another stroke.

"You're so wonderfully contradictory, Soubi. Beautiful ugly."

A shadow in the dust shimmered light was talking to him. Soubi squinted his eyes to make out the form better. It walked toward him until it left the light and could no longer be seen. Soubi felt a hand run through his hair and rest on his shoulder and took in a sharp breath. His eyes looked around the room, blue and wild, in search of an intruder. There was no one.

With shaky legs, he walked to the bathroom. Perhaps he was dreaming, a shower would wake him up.

He turned on the faucet and waited for the water to heat up. Out of habit, he bent down to take a drink. Seimei had always told him that drinking tap water from the faucet was dirty and low class, but he did it anyway. There was no reason that water from a cup suddenly erased the fact that it originally came from the faucet.

When he straightened his back and looked in the mirror, he saw with a shock that Seimei was standing behind him. Soubi whipped around, hair flying in his face. The bathroom was empty and he was alone. Heart full of despair, he slumped to the bathroom floor. The tiles against his bare feet were painfully cold. He was alone. Alone and going insane.

Once upon a time, he would have confided in Seimei all his fears of insanity, but now Seimei was the source of his pain. Who could he talk to? Kio could never understand and Ritsuka was much too young. There was no one now. He leaned his head back against the freezing porcelain tub and was awarded with a dull pain as his skull tapped against it.

No, he had been wrong. He was not completely alone, but it was an unwelcome truth. There was one person who would always listen to him, enamored and intrigued. Soubi did not want to admit his desire to speak to this one person, but he was fearful that his heart would die if he did not. Hesitantly, he walked to a pile of items in the corner of his studio, displaced from the table he had taken apart.

He picked up the phone and dialed Ritsu.

The tone rang five times with no answer. On the sixth, a smooth voice picked up. Soubi could not speak; he could not find any words to use.

"To whom am I speaking?"

Moments passed, so long that any ordinary person would have hung up from the silence, but Ritsu knew better than to think the caller had left the phone.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" he said calm and collected.

Soubi sought some comfort in hearing the familiar voice despite his hatred for its owner. The low and ever certain quality brought reassurance to him, and yet it made him despise himself for being weak to it. His hands trembled holding the phone.

"Beloved is disappearing..." He managed to croak out.

"Soubi-kun? Why this is certainly a pleasant surprise," Ritsu replied with ease, ignoring what was said, "But you do realize that I am hardly in a state to assist you currently. I'm afraid you'll have to make a visit in person."

Desperate, Soubi could not refuse.

For some reason, he could not remember the train to Shichisei Gouken just as he could not remember completing the painting he took with him. Perhaps it was that he did not want to remember where he was going and why. Forgetfulness gave him strength, almost as if he could not feel his torment from earlier. Its gates loomed over him just as they had so many years ago when he first set eyes on them. They were the same as they day he stood on the other side and gazed out at a dark hair boy who was to be his owner on the other side.

Not looking back, he continued into the building, carrying the table leg painting. Even in his state of distress, Soubi could not help but try to spite Ritsu. It was just the way things were. Soubi navigated its dark hallways and winding staircases with ease that spoke of many years of familiarty. He did not stop for anything, just as it always was, straight to sensei's office.

Pushing on the door with no warning, he stepped in. Ritsu turned to the door at the sound of the door hinge and heavy steps. His unseeing eyes were focused on the door frame rather than Soubi's face, giving away his vulnerability. A soft smile played on his lips in recognition. He did no need sight to know who his unannounced guest was; the tension in the room was unbearable.

"To come in without knocking? How rude, Soubi-kun. I thought I taught you better than that," he said mockingly.  
"I have brought you a gift," Soubi replied blandly, keeping his emotions under the surface.

Ritsu moved his face more toward Soubi, drawn by his presence.

"Oh? And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I brought you a painting, as I remember, you are a great admirer of art. I don't want it anymore, so I thought I would give it to you," his student remarked coldly.

The older man smiled bitterly, "I suppose it gives you great joy to mock a blind man with something he cannot see."

"Where would you like me to put it?"

"Bring it here."

Soubi unceremoniously set the painting down heavily next to Ritsu's chair. He then sat on the desk and took out his recently purchased pack of cigarettes. To his dismay, he'd already smoked half the pack getting to Shichisei Gouken. He lit one and dusted some ash on Ritsu's desk as his mentor reached out to touch the painting.

"This is still wet," Ritsu's tone was hiding surprise as he pulled his fingers away, leaving two large smudges.

Soubi smirked and tapped some more ash onto the desk, "It'll be another week or so before you can touch it. I wonder if you can stand the suspense."

"How thoughtful of you to paint me something...do open a window if you must smoke."

Ignoring the request, the young man purposely waved his cigarette around Ritsu's face, letting the smoke surround him. He stared at the man's uncomprehending glass eyes. Ritsu made no comments about the smoking. At first he wasn't sure if he could face the person who threw him away, but seeing the lifeless blue orbs changed his mind. They made it easier.

"What does it mean when a name fades?"

"Ah, you are here to talk about Beloved."

Soubi touched his bandages involuntarily. He felt a hand on his arm, strong and steady guiding the man before him to his feet. Ritsu leaned closer in curiosity, raising his hand to run it through Soubi's long hair. His fingers traced the angles of Soubi's face, painting a picture for his mind.

"Beautiful as ever," he whispered into the younger man's ear.

Ritsu stopped at the bandages and disgust flashed across his face briefly. Soubi reached up and protectively shielded the bandages from him.

"I need to feel it, Soubi."

This was wrong. This went against everything Seimei ever said. Beloved was for his eyes only, not anyone else, least the man who forfeited him. But Seimei was gone now, and so was beloved. He lowered his hand and allowed Ritsu to slowly unravel the white gauze.

With cold excitement, Ritsu slid his fingers over the carved letters. He could feel the last four quite prominently, but the first three were no longer there. Letting his hand glide along skin, he felt Soubi's pulse pounding in anxiety. The sensation was chilling. Soubi could not move.

"What does it mean?" The young man whispered, terrified of the answer.

"You forget so easily..."

"What does it mean?" he insisted.

Ritsu brushed aside the long ashen hair by his hand and leaned forward, placing a kiss on the hollow where the 'L' once was.

"It means that you are mine once more."


	4. Obsessions

**Not**** the**** Same**

Part IV - Obsession

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Soubi lit a cigarette as he sat on an uncomfortable guest cot, leaning forward with arms hanging heavy between his knees. Defeated and tired, he filled his lungs with arid choking smoke. It did little to warm him. He twisted the cigarette expertly between his fingers and stared at the thin trail of emitted grey rising into darkness. Ash scattered everywhere as he turned the cigarette back to take another drag.

Normally, he wouldn't be so careless, but it wasn't as if the room held anything for him. It was as he had said, just another box under a roof, even more empty than his usual one. The guest room Ritsu had given him was bleak and cold. He vaguely remembered that he really shouldn't be smoking indoors.

Kio always made himself a nuisance and complained. But there was no Kio now; he was gone and probably wouldn't return for a very long time.

The young man watched as the tip of the cigarette crackled bright red every time he drew air in. It was the only light in the room; he hadn't bothered to turn on the lights when the sun stole away. Smoking was a bad habit. He'd heard it a million times. But it eased the fierce emptiness of his heart. They all told him that it would ruin his lungs and yellow his teeth. Soubi didn't care. Each time he breathed in the fume, a sweet indescribable embrace filled his chest and he felt just a bit less alone.

Soubi sat there, head in hand, blowing out smoke until his cigarette burned down to the filter. He stubbed it out on the floor and stood up sighing deeply. Hesitantly, he then walked over to a dark brick he knew was a telephone, and picked up the little phone with an unsteady grip. He dialed seven numbers that always rested in the back of his mind.

A few seconds of silence passed before the first ring sounded. Darkness was thick in the room, invading every corner.

He waited with heartbeats thundering against his ribs.

.

.

A pair of sharp eyes narrowed, glassy and unseeing. The man smiled as he sat up in bed, holding a phone receiver close to his ear. He leaned left on the bed and it yielded by creaking in return. Soft moonlight from floor length windows reflected against his glinting orbs and made his face unreadable.

"At this hour..."

He waited for a reluctant reply. The man's thin lips pressed together in a sinister grin.

"Your insomnia has given you such good judgment."

The man glanced around the room, eyes gliding across the room over all the shimmering butterflies in frames he could see without understanding.

"You know my door is open to you-ah, regardless of the hour."

.

.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Soubi stumbled to the bathroom and turned the water on. He was feeling faint and swinging in vertigo. The darkness was beginning to fade into white. Letting cold water run through his fingers, he closed his eyes and let the chill of fluid calm his dizziness.

Through the rushing water's pater and hissing was a voice.

"Soubi," it called, "Let us talk."

Soubi shut off the water immediately and snapped his eyes open to look for the source of the voice.

There was no one.

Lifting the faucet knob again, he relished the return of cooling water. Through the hum he heard it again.

"Soubi," the voice said, "Do not ignore me."

"Seimei," he whispered, not daring to look anywhere but at the stream of water in his hands.

"Yes, Beloved," it returned.

"I..."

Seimei's words were sharp and cutting. "You've let him touch you."

Soubi lifted a trembling hand to his throat and felt for Beloved. Freezing fingers sent a shiver through his body. There were only three letters now. He winced at the realization and bit his lip.

"You're filthy."

"No..."

Dust in the room was thick in the air and Soubi felt himself suffocating. The murmur of water was translating into matter more than sound; it was all around him, enveloping and crowding in touch, sight, and smell. His arms were heavy and his heart empty once more.

"You will break him. Tell your sensei you love him. It will break his heart."

The voice was icy cold, far more so than the water could ever be. Wisp and wistful, the command echoed to every corner of the little guest room, lingering by Soubi's ear, so close he could almost feel Seimei's upward turned lips. The sensation brought a terrible longing and strangling fear.

"You're not here," he said softly and moved to shut the water off.

"But you want me to be."

Soubi's hand hesitated at the faucet, unable to stop the white noise and Seimei's voice. He stood there and stared at his own ghostly reflection in the mirror for a long time without blinking.

"Perhaps you are longing for Loveless to be carved into your flesh."

"No..."

"It never will, because you know that you are mine alone, don't you?"

"Stop..."

"You will never be more."

The young man forcefully slammed the tap down and silence rushed in to expel the strange matter. He swallowed hard and put on his coat drawing the fur trim close to him against the winter draft in the halls.

Ritsu was waiting for him with great anticipation, answering the door not two seconds after the first timid knock. He was dressed in a blood red hanten over his pristine white nightshirt. Soubi thought he was rather striking, even at such late hours.

The younger man suppressed a shudder as Ritsu placed a hand on his arm to guide him into the living room. Soubi's table painting was leaning against the wall beside the window. The blind man strode with ease and familiarity to the armchairs, pulling Soubi along. His colorless hair seemed to glow in the dim light. Soubi pulled back in resistance.

"We do not need to sit. I won't be staying long," he said brusquely.

"You are so troubled, Soubi-kun. Can I interest you in a beverage?"

He did not answer and Ritsu took his silence to be a yes. Soubi followed Ritsu, tracing the wall as he walked to the kitchen, feeling disgusted with himself.

"I keep seeing him," he blurted out.

Ritsu turned from the counter in surprise and looked past Soubi with his piercing glass eyes.

"You dwell unnecessarily," the blind man sneered as he took a step forward toward the opposite counter. In one sweeping motion, he reached forward to match Soubi's hand on the granite and pressed himself against his guest. It took milliseconds for Ritsu to hold Soubi's jaw with his free hand and press their lips together.

He could feel the alarm in Soubi's stiff posture, but graced him with another wandering kiss. Did he sense a response?

Before Ritsu to continue further, Soubi grabbed him by the neck and swung him into the adjacent wall. His eyes flashed with anger. Grabbing a kitchen knife with his right hand, he held it up to the older man's throat and slid it down the side. Pressing hard, the blade cut into skin and a thin rill of blood flowed onto the handle. Ritsu laughed.

"Don't you dare," Soubi said, dangerous and low.

Smiling cruelly, his sensei glided a finger through his long hair. His haunting eyes seemed to rest unfocused on Soubi's unbounded fading mark. Making no move to fight, he pressed a hand to his lips, expression mysterious. They stood in conflict for several moments.

"Soubi-kun," Ritsu finally said with a smirk, "It does do to become him."

Dropping the knife at this, he backed away from the dark red of Ritsu's hanten.

"You simply can't bring it back."

Soubi rushed out of the apartment looking stricken.

He knew he never should have gone.


	5. Void

**Not**** the**** Same**

**Part**** V**** - ****Void**

**.**

**.  
**

Darkness was receding over the horizon, giving way to a wash of warm wintry pink. Soubi sat outside of his room staring out the hall window. He'd not slept a second, not since he'd left his sensei. Halfway through the dawn, he'd run out of cigarettes but remained slumped against the plaster wall anyway, bidding his cravings.

He'd been listening to Seimei talk all evening.

His sacrifice sat opposite of him, just below the open glass, but Soubi tried to not look at him. He'd made no attempts to reply or acknowledge Seimei. Soubi knew that despite what he saw and heard, he was alone. Fact wasn't what it used to be. It was a trick of his madness.

"Give me your heart," the illusion persuaded.

Silence.

Soubi closed his eyes, hoping the voice would sink away into the fading night. It didn't.

"You've given everything, your allegiance, your life, your sanity. Now give me your heart." The voice was too much to ignore any further. It's owner smirked and slid a languid hand across the floor toward him.

Eyes empty, Soubi finally glanced at the apparition with rheumy eyes. He fought the overwhelming desire to reach for Seimei. The boy's dark curly hair swayed when he tilted his head; his face shifted and he was staring straight back. Soubi drew a sharp breath when his eyes focused. Sitting before him was not Seimei, but Ritsuka.

"Give me your heart," Ritsuka whispered.

"I can't," Soubi finally replied.

"Give me your heart," the boy repeated. The innocence of Ritsuka's eyes made him ache.

"No." Soubi's voice trembled. "People would die without their hearts."

As if melting from the morning sunlight, Ritsuka faded into the wall. His hands were the first to go. Then his feet, his ears, his hair, his sweet face. When he was completely gone, Soubi could still see his shadow on the floor, lingering on the grey tile.

The inky imprint reminded Soubi of his mother and the stories she used to tell.

"Soubi-kun," she used to say, "your were born as the brightest star in the morning disappeared. A meeting of nova and void, defiant joy unhindered by human possession."

He'd never understood a word she said. She was beautiful, but she had been quite insane when she died. Perhaps he was following in her image. Ritsu certainly never let him forget their family resemblance. He shuddered to think of his sensei. But he was only a man, was he not? A mere mortal, a human.

"It does do to become him," he echoed his sensei.

He could hear the blind man's cruel laughs.

The sky was a warm rose color, drawing the coldness out from the walls. Soubi could see dust floating in the streams of light. He would paint this scene one day. A faint tapping sound filled the empty hall. More hallucinations, piled upon lies. Soubi look straight ahead, ignoring the sound. The noise was so real he could feel the vibrations on the floor.

"Soubi-kun, up so early?" a cold and icy voice called out.

He shut his ears.

"I know you're there."

Soubi glanced leftward and saw the wavering image of his sensei, dressed in his red hanten with blood smeared on his neck. Ritsu held a walking cane and tapped the ground softly to find his way. To protest the image, Soubi took off his glasses, hoping it would dissipate the terror. The world blurred, but red was red and refused to leave.

"You're not real," the younger man insisted, stumbling to his feet.

Ritsu laughed, harsh and amused, "Am I now."

Soubi backed against the wall, legs stiff with discomfort. He frantically felt for the door behind him. Ritsu was closing the distance between them, tapping the ground before his feet with certainty. Morning light illuminated his silver hair and unseeing eyes, making him seem even more ephemeral than before. His sensei was almost translucent in the dawn.

"You're not real."

Desperate to run from his illusions, Soubi fumbled with his door key. The silver handle finally yielded and the long-haired man shut himself into the room. He turned the bolt with shaky hands and proceeded to pull his chair before the doorway. Hastily, he slide the small glass bed side table behind the chair in a maze; it screeched along the slick tile floor. He then quickly tossed pillows, blankets, and anything else he could find onto the floor. The room was wrecked, all save the bed and desk, which were too heavy to drag.

"This isn't real," he muttered to himself again.

Pressing himself against the far wall, he waited for the tapping to go away. For a moment, the noise stopped, but Soubi's breathing quickened in panic when he saw shadows move from the bottom crack of his door. He heard the metal lock click and saw the handle turn. Ducking behind the bed, he pulled his knees to his chest and tried to stay quiet. If he ignored his sensei, this would all disappear. It was all in his head.

The door opened and the blind man entered.

Soubi held his breath.

Ritsu's cane knocked into the chair, and he tossed it aside easily.

"Soubi-kun, stop this nonsense. This is my school. I have all the keys."

The man took another step and stumbled on a pillow. Looping the cane around his wrist, he leaned forward to feel his whereabouts with his two hands. The room was small, after all. Soubi thought he looked like blood spilt on snow.

"I've come to discuss the — unpleasantness — of last night. Let an old man have his peace."

Hesitantly, Ritsu placed a hand on the glass top of the table. Thinking the floor clear, he stepped forward and landed on the slippery bulk of Soubi's comforter. Blind and unbalanced, Ritsu crashed to the ground knocking over the table with him. The glass top shattered with a chilling shrill. Breathing heavily, Ritsu tried to pull himself upright, but hissed from pain when his hands met with sharp shards.

Soubi remained in the corner, hands over his ears.

"What have you done? Is this my penance?"

His lungs shook with unshed tears. Pink shadows were crawling on the walls.

"Are you crying?"

Soubi shook his head despite feeling his eyes burning. Seimei would have never allowed him to be this way. Frozen in horror and trepidation, he pulled his knees closer. He did not dare put on his glasses or stand up to see his sensei lying blind and bloody on the ground.

"I can't see if you are, you know."

Finally, in a moment of broken weakness, Soubi answered, "Yes."

The crunching of crystal pieces drifted in the air was Ritsu tried to move again.

"Tell him you love him. Break his heart." Seimei's strong voice rang out.

"I miss you," Ritsuka's childish whisper pleaded.

"Soubi-kun," Ritsu hissed.

The room was full of presences, packed until it was to burst. They were crowding around him.

"Just stop, stop," Soubi croaked, burying his face in his arms. "Leave me alone. All of you, just leave me alone."

He could almost feel another letter disappear.

"You're not real."


	6. Egress

**Not the Same  
**

Part VI - Egress

.

.

Nagisa busied herself in the infirmary; pigtails bobbing up and down as she straightened the tables, placed flowers in proper vases, and straightened all items to sit orthogonally again. Her voluminous skirt brushed against every bed corner and every table leg as she hurried in circles. So neurotically busy was Nagisa that she barely took notice of Soubi seated in the corner watching her.

His blue eyes followed her intently as she shuffled around in her menial tasks. He wondered why she felt the compulsion to be so hopelessly thorough when aligning objects to sit at right angles. There was a sort of frenzied out-of-sorts about the way she ignored him, giving an impression that she were purposely giving him the silent treatment and finding it difficult to keep up. Every now and then, her steel colored eyes would dart to the bed and its slumbering, alabaster patient. These glances were sharp and brief, as if they were secretive and she feared them being caught.

Soubi's attention shot between the man in the bed and the woman circling him. There was a momentary softness that crept into the lines around her eyes when she flicked her gaze down. He suddenly realized with a grimace that she'd come to care for the man despite his utter cruelty. It was the same look that he'd seen Kouya sneak at Yamato when she thought no one was looking. It was sickening.

"You shouldn't fuss so much," Soubi boldly announced, slouching in his chair. "It's only a few cuts. He's not worth your time."

Nagisa spun around and shot him a venomous glare. "I know this wasn't an accident. You had something to do with this. You're lucky Nana found you instead of me." Soubi smirked and casually batted the lamp beside him so it sat crookedly. The blatant disregard sent Nagisa into a bottled rage. She huffed out a frustrated breath, nostrils flaring angrily.

Just then, Ritsu stirred and hissed in pain when his injured hand came in contact with the bed railings. Nagisa immediately pranced to his side, completely forgetting Soubi.

"Shh, I've put you under a sleeping spell, silly." He could barely make out her whispered words.

"Sagan-san?" the man turned to her and mutter hoarsely. Nagisa clutched the railings with whitening fingers, leaning over Ritsu eagerly.

She was right that it was fortunate that Nana had found them. Frequently insomniac and painfully strange Nana was the only one who was never judgmental. She'd calmly helped Ritsu from the broken glass without so much as a hysterical whimper; she was used to not questioning. People were items to her, and she understood them about as little as they understood her machines. She had no interest in their emotional drama.

"Soubi, come with me."

He'd shaken his head and regarded with wild glistening eyes.

"Everything will be all right," she'd reassured kindly as she pulled him from his corner.

And he believed her whole-heartedly. Something in her austere words was like a spider thread pulling him from the depths of his misery. Nana had led him to the infirmary then, and together, they wrapped up the lacerations and bruises of his sedated sensei. In the secret of the frosty morning, he dumbly followed her lead like an automaton.

"I don't know what he's done now, but he's just a man, Soubi. He's not a God or the devil; He's just a man."

Just a man.

Soubi made a face and crossed his ankle over his knee. "It's pathetic, Nagisa, the way you hover over him," he taunted harshly, his usually calm face morphing into an exacting sneer. The young man twisted a strand of long hair around his finger absently, a gesture highly reminiscent of Seimei. He took great delight in her stricken shock for a moment before his face fell expressionless all of a sudden.

_It would not do to become him._

No, it wouldn't.

"Sagan-san, leave us for a moment. There is something I must discuss with Soubi, alone," Ritsu stated, glass eyes fixed at the space beside Nagisa's head.

"But Minami—" she protested.

"Please," he cut her off.

Reluctantly, Nagisa backed away from the bedside and turned to Soubi. "Play nice," she warned him as she rotated the lamp by his left so it sat perpendicular to the table edge again. "_Or I will hurt you,_" she mouthed silently, looking murderous and meaning every word.

"Sure," he mocked coyly, "_sensei_."

The woman gave a humph and swept from the room dramatically. Neither Ritsu nor Soubi made any movements after she'd closed the door; they simply regarded one another with quiet scrutiny.

"How adorable, you sitting by my bedside, caring for my well being. Have you been here all this time?" Ritsu finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. His good hand reached up to trace the bandage at his throat.

Soubi subconsciously mirrored the act with his own scar and felt the raised edges of only a single letter remaining. But he didn't mind so much. Sitting and watching Ritsu in his most vulnerable state of least resistance changed something in him. With the streaming sunlight, truth condensed into clarity. It was as if they're places were suddenly switched, and he were holding all the cards instead.

"Soubi-kun."

"I've sat here thinking for a long time, and I understand now," he spoke softly, approaching the bed in a fluidly motion. His eyes ran over the man lying under white sheets. Ritsu seemed so frail, so old, so desperate, so worn. "What is easy isn't ever worth it," Soubi continued. "It's easy to belong to you, to Seimei, to Ritsuka. It's hard to belong to yourself—to have to fight for yourself and not someone else."

"Such a sentimental boy," Ritsu chided, empty eyes staring straight ahead.

"There's no sentiment," he replied coldly.

"But you need me, Soubi. Who would you be without me?"

Soubi shook his head as if he were speaking to a small child. "Don't you see it? I don't need you, Minami-sensei,_ you need me_." All of the fear he had for this man has slipped away. The only thing Soubi had left was pity for him—clemency for the sorrow that was love gone to waste. It was pitiful that disappointment of the heart could warp a man into such a control-dependent phantom, drifting between emotion and stoic, never experiencing anything real.

"So you've come to mock me, as usual?" Ritsu's voice was dangerous and low, devoid of its usual amusement.

"No," Soubi sighed as he bent down over his sensei. Long pale hair spilled onto Ritsu's face and the older man hissed in surprise. "What's real and what's true are very different things. I've come to say goodbye."

Brushing aside stray strands of silver hair from Ritsu's brow, Soubi leaned down and gave him a gentle kiss. It was the type of contact that was sealing, the kiss that prince charming would give to sleeping beauty to put her to rest. There was no malice, no feeling, just finality. Ritsu reached up to grasp him, but his fingers slipped through the air uselessly.

He urgently tried to sit up, struggling against the sheets and his personal darkness. Soubi pushed him back down with firm hands on his shoulders. Ritsu took this opportunity to grip one of Soubi's wrists. Red seeped through the bandages as he opened barely closed wounds.

"You're mine," he said in a strained whisper.

"No more than I am my mother." Soubi pried the gripping fingers from his wrist mercilessly.

"I made you! You're nothing without me," Ritsu gasped.

"Maybe. But you'll never know." Stepping back away from the bed, Soubi made his way around the infirmary room towards the door. Free from restraint, his sensei clawed his way upright and attempted to get out of bed.

"You'll be back."

"Goodbye, sensei."

Ritsu felt wildly around for support, pushing ceramic vases to the floor and stumbling. His unsteady legs failed him, and he slipped onto the floor in an ungraceful heap. Crawling on hands and knees, he desperately inched toward the door where Soubi stood. He knew that if Soubi left the room, it was the last time they would meet.

"You'll be back!"

Soubi took one last look at the pathetic man on the floor and exited.


	7. Decision

**Not the Same  
**

Part VII - Decision

.

.

BELOVED was gone.

The mirror hinges squeaked as Soubi closed it. He turned the gauze roll over and over in his hand; he'd taken it from behind the mirror out of habit, but it seemed that there was no longer any secret to be kept. The zigzagging lines of Seimei's sadistic whim were gone, taking the last remains of Beloved with them.

Breath choked in his throat as he gazed on the smooth patch of skin. He was finally alone.

Taking the gauze in his unsteady fingers, he wrapped the strip around his neck quickly. It was the same as he had always done, but like a wrecked car repainted, it simply didn't seem quite right. Frustrated, he wretched the fabric off and threw it in the trash forcefully. The whispers and horrifying longing were gone, but so was order and certainty.

The house was just as it used to be; the floor boards creaked and the winter sun poured through dusty windows brightly. Yet Soubi suddenly felt like a stranger in his house, as if he had broken into some other man's home and was constantly anxious its real owner to return unannounced.

"Where are you?" he asked the air. But it wasn't truly a question, because he did not seek an answer, only to take up the reaching emptiness.

What was he to do now?

The space seemed to echo his uncertainty and suddenly he felt that this place was not for him. Soubi scrambled over to middle of the room and flipped open all the floorboards. He frantically pulled out all of his clothes and his suitcase. Not even caring to inspect the clothes, he began to shove them all into the suitcase. There was the small matter of the rent—he'd already paid until the end of the month, but he could stand to take the loss. The money his parents left him would still last for several more years if he was careful.

Hastily, he threw in anything that caught his eye. A paintbrush, a slip of paper with a scrawled note from Kio, anything. There was no reason or order for his packing. If his mind lingered over the item, it went into the suitcase. There would be plenty of time to sort them all out later.

Just as he zipped up the bulging luggage, a knock came from the door. Soubi crept up to the door stealthily and peeked out from the looking hole, cautious of not letting his shadow make sudden movements to alert the person outside he was home.

Ritsuka.

He swore under his breath. He'd made his peace with them all, all but Ritsuka. It would break his young heart. Leaning his head against the door, he winced. For a second, he contemplated pretending to not be home, but his better judgement whispered that it would be cruel to ignore the boy.

Opening the door slowly, he tried his best to look casual.

"Soubi—you're here," Ritsuka whispered, obviously shocked to see him.

"This is my house, yes."

Ritsuka blinked, not finding his response charming in the least. The boy pushed the door open without warning and barged into the studio. Shutting out the cold quickly, Soubi stumbled to keep up with him.

"Where the hell have you been? It's been days!" Ritsuka suddenly burst out angrily.

Soubi tried his best to placate the situation. "I took a little trip."

"And you thought it was considerate to not tell me? I've been calling you since forever!" The boy continued to shout.

"I left my phone at home."

Ritsuka folded his arms and huffed, "That's awfully convenient."

"I give you my word, I really did." Soubi glanced at the cellphone in the corner of room, dead and forgotten. Perhaps it had been insensitive of him.

"So—" Ritsuka hesitated and seemed unsure of himself. "You just didn't want to talk to me. You've lied to me!"

"Ritsuka, you know I care for you." For a moment, the statement seemed to provoke a disappointed forgiveness, but it was short lived. His sacrifice, no, just Ritsuka, stared at him accusingly. His dark eyes trailed to the suitcase behind Soubi, and his exterior fell.

"You're leaving again."

Soubi stopped and followed his line of sight.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Were you going to tell me at all?"

"I—"

"You're all the same, leaving me!" Ritsuka's eyes were bright with distress.

Soubi knelt down to be more at eye level with the boy. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Forgive me. There are a lot of things you can't understand yet, Ritsuka, and I don't know how to explain them. Letting someone go is the hardest thing you can ever do, but if it is Hitsuzen, they'll come back."

"But what about being my fighter?"

"I don't want to sully words with violence anymore. Loveless has a fighter, and you may not know him now or be able to imagine him, but he will find you. They always do, and it'll feel like meeting a part of yourself that you never even knew existed."

"I don't want him. I want you."

He ruffled Ritsuka's hair affectionately. "I'm sure he'll be half as charming as me."

"I don't care. I want you!"

"Ritsuka, a sacrifice bases their entire life's meaning on their fighter. If their fighter dies, they loose their desire for living. The world stops being in color, the air stops feeling warm, words stop having meaning. Do you honestly feel that way about me?"

Furrowing his brows, Ritsuka looked panicked. He searched Soubi's face as he struggled to decide his answer. After a moment of quiet turmoil, he lowered his head as he could not meet Soubi's clear blue eyes. There was no use in lying to himself. He didn't feel that way.

"Soubi—" he croaked, on the verge of tears.

The young man enveloped him in a loving embrace. Ritsuka clung to his shoulders like a lifeline. Soubi liked to think that he was being merciful. "I know it seems like I'm throwing you away, but you can't belong to anyone but yourself, least of all me. One day you'll understand, and you'll forgive me."

"But—"

He placed a chaste kiss on the boy's temple and straighted up. "Don't just see the grace and beauty in things, be it." A frosty glow of magic surrounded his fingertips as he wrapped them around Ritsuka's small hands. "It plays with our minds, but we can't refuse because we're so desperately lonely. And beauty makes our hearts beat so fiercely that they threaten to give out."

The spell in his heartfelt words burst forth from their hands; Ritsuka stared wide-eyed. Silvery tendrils crept from their hands and gathered about Ritsuka, condensing into a snow white lily. He held the flower delicately, afraid to damage its ethereal form. "Use your distress and your emotion to build your powers."

"Will I see you again?"

"Don't forget me, beloved."

He lifted his suitcase from the bed, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. Ritsuka stood rooted to the floor as Soubi opened the door, frozen like the flower in his hands.

"But I don't understand," he protested.

"Sometimes we're not meant to."

Soubi walked into the freezing winter, carrying his suitcase with ease despite its weight. He turned his back on the flat and did not look back; he had no desire to see a distraught Ritsuka dashing to the railings with eyes trailing him. There was only one place for him to go before he set out into the world.

Kio didn't live far, in fact, he lived suspiciously close. So close that, if he hadn't moved in before they ever met, Soubi would have sworn that its location were deliberatly chosen to be next to him. Instead, it only seemed a strange coincidence. Kio's house was the ground floor of small concrete building that screamed the new urban "shabby-chic" where young people reveled in their own poverty.

A row of oddly elegant plastic flowers covered the window sill, bursting color into the bleak grey of February. Soubi rang the buzzer nervously. He couldn't discern why his heart was pounding so fiercely; he'd done this a million times before. But this was not like the rest, his mind worried, this would be the last.

"Konchikuwa!" Kio's bright voice crackled from the intercom. Soubi smirked at the greeting. Always obsessed with food, Kio couldn't even keep a fish reference out of his hellos. Chikuwa, really.

"Who is it?" the buzzer crackled again.

Soubi found his throat closed. He put a hand on the door and contemplated what to say.

"Oh hell, just come in. Please don't murder me~!"

The door rumbled, and the lock clicked open. Shivering, Soubi stepped into the foyer with his baggage. The door to his right swung open, yielding a slightly disheveled Kio. The two stared at each other, frozen in place, both seemingly expecting someone other than the one across the threshold. Kio tried to smooth his wild hair down as he stammered, "Sou-chan, what a—surprise!"

"I'm leaving," Soubi announced without any explanation.

Kio gave him a puzzled look and opened the door wider, gesturing for Soubi to enter. "Leaving? To where?"

Soubi shook his head and replied, "I don't know. Somewhere nice. I've come to say goodbye."

"You're weirding me out, Sou-chan. It sounds like you're not coming back." Kio's normally cheerful face sunk into a serious expression.

An uncomfortable silence passed between them and Kio perceptively asks, "Has something happened?"

Soubi cast his eyes down at the floor, debating whether to tell Kio the truth. He fidgeted with the buttons of his coat for a while before unbuttoning the collar and opening it to expose his bare neck. Kio tilted his head in confusion at the sight.

"Sou-chan? Your bandages?" he ventured.

"The scars have disappeared."

Unable to understand the full meaning, Kio furrowed his brow. He took a step closer to inspect the skin, reaching out tentatively. Soubi made no move to slap his hand away, merely standing still with his head hung low. The shorter man closed the distance between them and traced hesitant fingers on the smooth skin of Soubi's throat. There was only a shadow of the scars once littered across the space.

"But isn't that good? He, Seimei, gave them to you, didn't he?"

"I don't know. I'm leaving because things are not the same anymore. Everything feels empty now," he confessed as Kio slide his warm fingertips further into his coat collar. Soubi shuddered at the touch. It had been many years since anyone graced him with their touch.

"Don't be fooled by your emptiness, Sou-chan," Kio said gently, "There's always room for happiness."

Soubi glanced up at Kio's face, shocked.

Smiling, Kio tugged his head down and kissed him, a sweet and inviting sensation. Soubi let himself be pulled into the kiss with closing eyes, tongue flickering into Kio's mouth and arms wrapping around his slim shoulders. Kio's singular scent of saccharin lemon and soap overwhelmed his senses. He sighed as wandering lips traveled down his neck, gently placing kisses along the trail of void left by beloved. He felt free.

"Stay," Kio pleaded into his ear.

Soubi looked into his eyes and saw no reflections of himself, only artfully formed organic dashes of centered gold fading into blue. He found himself mesmerized by the clarity and complexity in them. In that moment, Soubi knew he would stay.

There _was_ room for happiness.

He wanted to paint.

.

FIN

.

* * *

Thanks for reading, I hope it was entertaining! I really wanted to address the issue of personal reformation and overcoming dependency, because I believe that everyone can achieve independence no matter of their traumas. I'm not saying that Soubi should end up with Kio, just that for the time being, I think Kio is the only person who is really good for him. Ritsuka is just young and can't provide stability or equality in a relationship.

_references:_

1. Room for Happiness is quoted from the Kaskade song of the same name.

2. Konchikuwa is a play on "konnichiwa" which subs in "chikuwa", a type of food made from fish. Tadashi from the band Plastic Tree often says this.

3. Hitsuzen means preordained fate.


End file.
